


Lost Patients

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Impregnation, Infant Death, Latex, Medical Kink, Object Insertion, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 04:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: A woman finds herself in "Dr" Trager's "surgery"





	Lost Patients

It was hard to breathe. There was something over her face, something that clung and crinkled with each laboured intake of air. Plastic. It had been transparent at first, but condensation had made it barely translucent, and she could only make out vague shapes. There was someone nearby: She could hear them moving around, hear the somehow sinister clink of small metal objects knocking together.

She blinked, eyelashes scraping the surface of whatever was on her head, and it made her want to sneeze. She was weird that way; wired that way. She stifled the urge, though - she didn't want to contemplate the mess she'd be in if she sneezed.

She tried to move, just a little, just to know that she could, but she could only move her extremities. She was in some kind of chair, a strap around her throat, more around her wrists, some at her ankles. Her legs were spread, held apart, and she'd had enough gynaecological examinations to recognise the feel of the stirrups when she was in them. She wiggled her fingers though. Wriggled her toes. She wasn't paralysed. Good.

There was a voice nearby suddenly, nasal,muffled through the plastic.

“Oh, you're awake! Welcome back, buddy! You don't mind if I call you ‘buddy’, do you? It's non-gender-specific in this case. I call everyone that. No offense intended. I mean, I can tell you're female…Hehe...kind of obvious, if you don't mind me saying. Anyhoo, glad you've rejoined the land of the living. Was starting to worry. Those guys out there are a little enthusiastic, don't you think? You had quite a knock on the head. But don't worry, you're in good hands now….”

She gasped for air, and the plastic caved in over her face in a stifling caul. She twitched where she sat, trying not to panic, knowing that hyperventilating would only make her mask tighter, increase the feeling of claustrophobia. But it was hard. She sucked in a careful, shallow breath. Concentrated on remaining calm.

“Ohhhhh….oh, look at you,” said the voice, full of false sympathy. “That can't be comfortable. I can see you're having trouble breathing. Here, let me help you out. Give you a little more air. Hang in there, buddy.”

A blurred shape came into view, indistinct behind her unwanted veil. It looked human to her distorted vision, but only just. There was something wrong with it. Something raw. A limb moved into her periphery, something glinting against the harsh overhead lights, and she cringed. There was something unforgiving about that subdued shine, something brutal.

“Hold tight there, buddy. Keep real still. I'm just gonna make a little incision right over your mouth hole, and I wouldn't to cut you. Not yet, anyway….”

She froze, holding precious breath. A hand pressed over her face, digits spread over her brow, palm blotting out her limited view. It pulled the mask snug around her face, cutting off her precious little supply.

“This is pretty delicate,” the voice said in a conversational tone. “Might be a little tricky. Now. Here we go.”

There was pressure over her mouth, and she fought her instinct to struggle.

_ Calmcalmcalmcalmcalm _ her mind urged, and she suppressed the shudder that wanted to ripple a path through her.

Something touched her lip, something cold and hard, but she didn't flinch. She was  _ calm _ . Air flooded into her crude mask, a widening slit over her mouth, and she gasped in lungfuls of it. It tasted foul, tainted by copper and shit and sweat, but there was a lot of it and she snatched it down anyway.

“There we are!”

The voice was pleased.

“All done. That wasn't too bad, was it?”

The pressure eased off her face, and the plastic that had obscured her vision cleared slightly. As the fog dissipated, it did nothing to ease her fears, as the figure hanging over her seemed even more wrong than before, but at least she could breathe.

“How’s that?” He asked. “Any better? Of course it is! That's it, buddy - you take a moment there. Drink it all in. Why, that has to taste better than a nice martini, am I right?”

He dove out of view, leaving her with the dirty glow of the overhead lights.

“You handled that real well,” he continued out of sight. “Not a drop of blood spilled. But don't worry - there's plenty of time for that!”

She filled her lungs, glorying in the ability to do so, and for that brief time she could forget everything else. It was enough, a luxury she hadn't appreciated, but she was appreciating it now.

“You're probably trying to remember what happened,” said the voice. “That's natural.  I gotta say, though, you're lucky to be in one piece, let alone alive! Especially considering you're a lone woman, amongst all those  _ crazy  _ men. Boy, I bet they thought all their Christmases had come at once when they saw you! Most of them haven't seen a woman for years! You shouldn't judge them too harshly, though - I mean, it's understandable they'd go a little wild seeing you on the loose. I know I did…”

She tried to block out the voice. It was saying nothing to reassure her, and she didn't want to consider the implications. She'd been trying to ignore the memories, knowing deep down they'd only bring her fear, but they were creeping back now the primary discomfort had been dealt with.

She was a medical technician. She dealt with blood- and tissue-samples secondhand. She never extracted those samples, never encountered the inmates. She was far removed, tucked out of sight. The man in charge, Jeremy Blaire, had explained that to her - in between his attempts to get into her panties.

_ “You won't meet them. You won't be anywhere near them. And you make sure it stays that way. I won't be held accountable for what happens to you if you stray past your official limits. You stay in your little lab and you'll be golden….” _

She'd paid attention. She valued her job and her life too much. But when the breach had happened everything had gone to shit and the boundaries between Her world and Theirs had dissolved. And they were everywhere.

She'd run when she could, hidden when she could, but it hadn't been enough. She'd been caught, and it had felt like her life was over, only sadly not immediately. Time had become tangled and frenetic. There had been sly hands under clothes, fingers touching the places her mother had taught her to keep covered. They had argued. Fought for her. And in the struggle her head had been hit, and now she was….here.

Out of the frying pan. Into the fire.

The man with her was pretending to be her saviour, but she wasn't stupid. He was her captor. He was moving around again, humming a happy little tune to himself, and she managed to turn her head a little, though the wide leather strap over her throat chafed. 

He had his back to her, and through the veil of plastic she could see his fuzzy outline. He was busy doing something at a nearby trolley, elbows moving as he worked, and there was the clinking again. Like cutlery. But what would cutlery be doing in a place like this?

“How are you doing?” he called back over his shoulder, as though he sensed her attention. “Breathing easy? Sure you are.That bag over your head is just a precaution, by the way.”

He didn't say what it was a precaution against.

He turned, walking back towards her. He had something in his hand, a long slender cylinder.

“Now, you've been through a traumatic event, honey. You don't mind if I call you honey, do you? I feel like we're getting to know each other. I'm gonna give you something to help you relax. Just a little thing I concocted. Haven't had chance to test it out, so you can be my guinea pig, how does that sound?”

Her mouth was dry, her tongue a wad of cotton in her mouth, and she flapped it uselessly, producing only an arid croak.

“That's the spirit!” he said. “Okay, so this might hurt a little, but if you're a good girl you can have a sticker afterwards. Here we go…”

The thing in his hand came into focus. It was a syringe, caked with a brown substance that looked like dried blood, and the needle was inordinately long. The smudged barrel was filled with a cloudy liquid, and she cringed as he brought it closer, shaking her head frantically.

“Don't be silly now,” he chuckled. “It's just a little prick. That's what she said, right?  Don't mind me. I like to joke around. Buckle up, buttercup - here it comes!”

There was a sharp pain in her neck, a stabbing that wrung a high pitched, cracked whine from her, and she clenched her hands into fists, straining to pull them free. Something cold flooded her throat, making her grind her teeth together, and the agony swelled to a crescendo only to dwindle mercifully.

“There we go! All done. It shouldn't take long to take effect. Then we can have some fun.”

He returned to his trolley, and she went limp in her chair, waiting for the drugs in her system to take hold. She didn't know what to expect, and her heart fluttered rapidly in her chest, a swell of nausea rising in her belly.

She tried to lick her lips, but the shrivelled jerky that was her tongue felt like leather. Her lips were numb, she discovered -  fuzzy, pouting pillows that flopped open and felt too large. She let her head roll on her neck. The pain from the injection lingered as an afterthought, but a warm tingle was starting to spread through her body, making the sting seem far away and unimportant. She giggled as it tickled her fingers.

“I guess it's working,” he said. “That's great. Oh, I nearly forgot - there's a consent form for you to sign. Red tape, huh? I know, you don't have to tell me. Still, rules are rules. Here we are.”

He was holding a clipboard up in front of her and she regarded it blearily. The sheet of paper on it was fuzzy round the edges, the black type melting together, and she couldn't make any sense of it.

“You're trying to read it? That's cute. Let me help you out: It gives me permission to conduct your treatment, to perform medical and gynaecological tests, and to impregnate you. That seem good to you?”

She managed to nod. It sounded just fine.

“Good girl. You'll need a pen - oh. Yeah. Your hands are tied. What am I like? Never mind, necessity is the mother of invention. We can make do. Open wide!”

A pen hovered in front of her face, and he slotted the end of it into her mouth. She jiggled it up and down, and he laughed.

“You kidder. Here you are, sign at the bottom.”

He held the clipboard up and she craned her neck forward until the tip of the pen touched it. She struggled to make a mark, and after some difficulty managed to scrape a rough X somewhere near the bottom. He plucked the pen from her lips, and looked at what she'd done.

“Not bad. A+ for effort. Can you believe there are people who can create masterpieces just using a paintbrush in their mouth? That's some dedication. You aren't quite there, but you show promise. I bet that mouth is real talented when you put your mind to it.”

She shifted her head, screwing up her face at the crackle of plastic. It was starting to annoy her.

“Aw, let me get that off you now. That must be the biggest pain in the ass.”

She felt fingers fumbling at her throat, and there was a tearing sound as the plastic tore. He peeled it away from her sweaty face, and she blinked in the murky light,  gulping in the rancid air. She could see clearly now - see the man who had rescued her, and she felt a wave of gratitude towards him for removing her mask. She tried out a smile, curling her lips with difficulty.

He looked….odd, she supposed, with his scarred head and steampunk goggles, but her mother had always told her it was rude to stare. She'd also told her than one should never judge a book by its cover, which was just as well, because if this man’s cover was anything to go by he'd be an obscene book of horror stories written by a crazy man. There was a piece of cloth over his nose that hung down, obscuring his mouth, but she saw the stretched skin of his face move like he was grinning back at her.

“I guess we haven't properly been introduced,” he said. “I'm Richard Trager, but you can call me Rick. What handle do you go by?”

She tried to speak. She couldn't exactly remember her name, but she wanted to cooperate. Her mouth made a mushy sound, a sloppy syllable that lolled in her mouth like chewed food, and he patted her arm.

“That's okay. I'll just call you Honey. That okay, Honey?”

“Esh,” she said. 

He leaned over a wiped a drop of drool from her chin.

“Okay. We should get started. Time's a wasting. Well begun is half done. First things first, let's get those pesky clothes off you….”

He went over to his trolley and she followed him with her eyes. The trolley was laden with dirty medical equipment, instruments she might have been able to name if her mind hadn't been all squishy. More interesting than the tools, though, was Rick himself: Emaciated, so thin his skin seemed stretched across muscle and sinew. There was some kind of contraption on his arm, needles poking into his skin, and he was naked apart from a long leather apron. His ass was toned, though, a neat pair of buttocks beneath the bow of his apron.

He turned back towards her. She felt no alarm at the sight of the huge shears in his hand. They had long, curved blades and we're crusted with gore. He snicked them together experimentally, and she watched the blades yawn open and snap shut again. She wondered in the vaguest way what he was going to do with them, but she didn't really care. She drifted happily, and even though she knew she was strapped into a chair she felt like she was floating, and looked up at the ceiling, ready to meet it.

He started on her lab coat, snipping the buttons away first then cutting along the arms. She felt the blunt side of the blade touch her arm, felt the tug as he pulled the cloth away. He sliced at the shoulders, then set his shears down to use both hands, stripping the sleeves away, ripping the front of the coat off. She was smartly dressed beneath - or she had been at the start of the day.  Her clothes were stained and dishevelled now, her blouse missing buttons, her pantyhose striped with runs. Rick made no mention of the state of her garments, which she thought was polite of him. He set his blades against the hem of her skirt, cutting upwards towards her crotch. She squirmed a little as the metal pressed against her belly, but it was a relief when the binding fabric loosened. Her blouse was next. Snip, snip, snip, and it was in tatters he pulled aside. Her pantyhose was easy enough: He used his fingers, digging into the holes and shredding them. He stood back and regarded her for a moment, looked at her sensible white bra and cotton panties.

“Feels like it's my birthday,” he said, holding up the shears. “Get to unwrap the  _ best _ present.”

She smiled woozily at him. What a lovely thing to say.

Five snaps of the shears. Her bra straps, the elastic between the cups, and the sides of her panties. He tossed the scraps aside. It felt good to have the sweaty cloth away from her. Her skin itched, though, and she wished she could scratch.

“You did good, honey,” he said. “Kept real still. Not a nick on you.”

He was standing between her open legs, and looked her over appreciatively. He laid a hand on her belly. It was cool and a bit damp.

“Nice,” he said. “Smooth. How old are you, hon? In your twenties?”

She shrugged and he eyed her breasts as they wobbled.

“I'd guess so,” he said. “Nice, tight skin.”

He cupped a breast, squeezing it, testing the resilience.

“Supple,” he said. “Got a nice spring to it.”

He pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, then pulled, letting it snap back. He gave the fat part a little slap to set it swinging, watch it sway back and forth.

“Good size too. What are you, D-cup?”

She didn't answer, but he wasn't listening anyway, hypnotised by the swing of her tit. He slapped the other one, knocking them together like the balls in a Newton’s cradle, then pushed them up next to each other. He leaned forward, and the cloth mask he wore lifted a little, a long thin tongue slithering out from underneath. She watched curiously as he licked the crease between her breasts, making a shiny stripe.

He noticed her interest.

“Just taking your pulse, honey. Relax. All part of your check-up.”

Oh.

He moved his tongue again, this time across her breasts, sweeping from one nipple to the other. It gave her an odd feeling, like a tickle but better. He rubbed the scarred skin of his face over them. Something pinched her, and she tucked her chin down to see what it was.

He had one of her nipples scrunched up in his mask, padded by the scruffy cloth, and he gnawed at her through it, hard ridges of his teeth champing. She thought it might hurt, but she couldn't be sure.

He drew back. Her breast was red and puffy, areola ringed by a bite mark.

“All seems to be in order,” he said. “But I'd better check the other one.”

He clamped her other breast in the ring of his hand, lifting it up. He lifted his mask aside, and she felt a twinge of sick disgust.

His face was disfigured, part of his cheek and some of his lips missing, exposing the taut red gleam of his gums and bright shards of teeth.

He snapped them shut, clacking them together, then opened wide, sucking most of her tit into his mouth. He sucked hard, letting his teeth close over the tender skin, chewing on the little pink bud. She felt something then, something muted filtering through her level wellbeing. Not pain, but a little spike of something, like when she was horse-riding and she bumped down on the saddle after a jump.

She twisted uneasily, confused by the sensation. He didn't stop, though, slimey tongue squirming over her skin. He slurped, and a little rivulet of drool dribbled down her ribs. His other hand was busy with the other breast, spanking it, jiggling it, tweaking it. He traced his fingers over the dents made by his teeth, poked her nipple in like he was ringing a doorbell.

She wriggled in her seat. There was a warm knot in her belly, and it made her feel fidgety. She tried to pull her legs back but they were strapped too tightly into the stirrups for her to do anything but shake her knees.

Rick finally released her, inspecting the livid purple bruises that were starting to form on the twin swells of her breasts.

“Pulse is a little fast but nothing for you to worry about,” he reported. “I'm going to keep monitoring you, though, just to be on the safe side.”

He went over to his trolley and returned with a couple of clips, tweezing them open with his fingers. They looked like they'd come out if the stationery cupboard, but they had wires attached to them.

“I'm gonna be honest with you, we're a little underfunded down here. We have to make do with what we've got,” he told her as he carefully clamped the shiny clips over her nipples.

They squeezed her tight, but the pain was reassuring to her dulled senses.

“Could really use a proper ECG machine, but what can you do? Am I right? Okay, those seem to be secure. Hold on now, Honey, and I'll get the electricity flowing.”

He ambled over to a corner out of sight, and she looked down at the soft pieces of herself held so severely by the merciless metal. Something wasn't quite right, but in her muddled state she couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“Okay, here goes,” called Rick, and she heard a solid clunk.

Something sparked behind her, a bright flare, and almost immediately the clamps attached to her began to vibrate. She arched her back helplessly, the inexorable tingle thrumming through her chest. There was a hum of machinery that hadn't been there before, a low sound almost outside of the frequency of her hearing, and she writhed in the captivity of her chair. 

“There we go!” said Rick cheerfully. “That should work. Gotta keep track of that heartbeat. I'll be with you in just a second, Honey, just gotta wash my hands. Hygiene is everything.”

Under other circumstances she would have found that hilarious: The room she was in was filthy, dark brown stains up the wall, the floor grimy with sticky puddles. Everything around her was either rusted or dirty. And he was washing his hands.

Her head fell back against the cushioned headrest. The vibrations maintained a steady thrall, and if they were meant to keep track of her heartbeat like he said they did a poor job, as the sensation only increased it in a vicious cycle.

Water splashed behind her, but she barely noticed, and she clamped her teeth together, moaning.

“What's that? Oh, I thought you said something. Nearly done here. Boy, it was lucky you fell into  _ my  _ hands, let me tell ya. That body of yours would have been  _ wasted  _ on those assholes. You're a prime specimen, Honey. And I'm gonna take good care of you. There. All finished. Guess I better glove up for this next part - might get messy…”

He came back into view, strolling like he was at a cocktail party.

“You know, I think I remember you. You look familiar. Didn't you work in the labs? You don't have to answer. Look a little preoccupied there. But yeah, I'm pretty sure you did. In fact, I remember Jer hiring you. Had his eye on you, if I recall. Pity I didn't get to know you better, but stuff happened. You know how it is. Did he ever get his hands on you, Honey? I'm guessing not, or you wouldn't still be here. Jer has a habit of firing ladies he's had prior knowledge of. That's just his way. We were good friends, me and him. Used to play golf together. You'd have thought that counted for something, but business is business, far as he's concerned. I can't be mad at him though. I understand. And, hey - if I was still up there, I'd probably be dead, right? Every cloud has a silver lining. Now, where did I put those gloves…..?”

All his chatter flowed over her, unimportant. She wanted to do something - maybe put her hands between her legs like her mother told her she shouldn't - but she couldn't do that and it was killing her.

He glanced over at her as he sought out his gloves.

“You okay?” he asked. “Look a little flushed….”

She flung him a pleading look, begging him for something she didn't know, and he chuckled.

“Aw, it's okay, Honey. Won't be long now. Oh, here they are! Those little buggers. I knew they were round here somewhere.”

He'd found his gloves. They were latex, slick black rubber, and he pulled them over his hands, lacing his fingers together to mold them snugly to the webbing in between. He snapped them around his wrists, the noise like a whip crack. They squeaked as he flexed.

“Yeah, that's the stuff. We're all set. Gonna need a little lube, I think. Can't be too careful. Here we go.”

There was a plastic tub on the trolley, and he unscrewed the lid, dipping his fingers into the gooey contents, scooping up a healthy gob. He smeared the sticky stuff over his black rubber digits, coating them thoroughly.

“This might seem excessive, but I'm not a monster. Don't mind what the other guys tell you. And you look pretty tight, I have to say. That's some snug little pussy you got, Honey.”

She blushed. He was looking between her legs, and she wanted to close them but it was impossible. She'd had pelvic examinations before, and they'd been humiliating. She hadn't started her periods till she was 16, and her mother had been concerned. It had started a whole slew of appointments with an array of different gynaecologists, each seeming more invasive than the last. Her mother had approved them all, despite her warnings about never letting men into her Private Places. It had been confusing for her as a teen: On the one hand told to keep her legs closed; on the other, told to allow these strangers delve into her most intimate parts.

She blinked back tears of confusion.

“Try to relax, Honey. You tense those muscles up, it's only going to be more uncomfortable. You see this here? This is a speculum. I expect you know that. Yeah,  I have two. Don't look so worried - I need to examine you thoroughly. And it starts right. Down. Here….”

She flinched at the cold jellyish feel of the lube on her private parts. His touch sent a spasm through her, a jolt that was totally alien yet oddly familiar at the same time. He had his fingers on her vagina, spreading her apart, opening her up. Something cold touched her, and she clenched her muscles, cringing away from him.

“Don't be a baby! This is hardly anything. Just you wait and see. Oh, that's it. Open up for daddy.”

He pried her apart, slipping the cold metal into her pussy. Her legs jerked, rattling her feet in the stirrups.

“What….what have we got here? Oh my. Do we have a  _ virgin _ here? Oh yes we do! Never thought I'd see this. Oh man. Honey, you are one of nature's wonders. Look at that! Oh. You can't. Never mind.  But still …”

He cranked her open, the walls of her pussy stretched wide, and she gave a stifled sob. Her cunt was a tunnel spread out like a highway, gaping beneath his unerring gaze.

“Oh yeah, that's the good stuff. All pink and tender. Like the inside of a watermelon. Okay, here comes the other one…”

The second speculum entered her ass, hard steel raping the moist muscle of her ring. She gasped, lifting her butt off the chair as much as she could, but there was no escaping the probe of the metal invader. He plunged it home, her sphincter muscle complaining the whole way, and she could feel a ghost of pain now, a mere suggestion of an ache.

“Medical technology has come a long way,” he said. “Do you know, in the old days they used tobacco enemas to revive people who had drowned? Or they tried, at least. They used bellows. Pumped tobacco smoke into their rectums, would you believe. That's where the expression ‘blowing smoke up your ass’ comes from. Can you imagine? They'd keep kits alongside rivers….”

He shook his head with a chuckle. He didn't appear to notice her anguish, or if he did it didn't concern him. He spun the little wheel, every turn putting more strain on her rectal walls. There was pain now, a solid ache in her asshole that made her want to vomit.

“Nearly finished,” he told her. “Just one more turn….”

He stopped, and though the hurt didn't diminish it didn't grow either. He bent down to inspect his work. She felt more exposed and helpless than she had ever done in her life. He was looking  _ into _ her, and she could feel the air move inside her, feel the gape of her holes. If it hadn't been for the steady throb of her nipples she would have been miserable, but the discreet buzz added a delicious sense of naughtiness her mother would have thoroughly disapproved of.

“I see you don't shave,” said Rick. “I guess that's a lot of hassle. Also, I don't really understand why society expects grown women to resemble little girls, but that's fashion, huh? Still, it might be a problem. Don't feel bad, though. I can deal with it. Be right back.”

He disappeared behind her. She heard water running again, and a strange rhythmic swishing that she couldn't place in her delirium.  _ Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh.  _ Did she know that sound? It reminded her of her grandfather for some reason.

He returned carrying a bowl, a stubby little brush, a block of soap, and a straight object that seemed to glow in the gloom. It looked pearly and mellow, holding its own warmth.

He dragged the trolley closer and set the items on it, dipping the brush into the bowl, then rubbing it over the soap. It began to lather immediately, white bubbles frothing up, and he used the brush to transfer the foam to her groin, painting her pubic hair with haphazard strokes. The water was cold, and a drop of it trickled between her labia, touching the gnarled little knot of her clit. It made her twitch, this icy little kiss, and her skin warmed it as it continued it's path, dribbling into her open pussy.

He worked quickly, working the bubbles into the tight gingery curls, and when he'd finished he stepped back to admire the bubbles that bearded her pubis. He nodded in satisfaction, picking up the pearly object. It opened up, a wickedly thin blade appearing that looked like it could extract her soul from her body.

“Okay. Now for the fun part. I sharpened this bad boy up for you, so you'd best hold still. This was my father's razor - he had a weird little superstition about it. Always told me it had to taste blood before it would close. Silly, right? Never tested the theory myself, but I guess we'll find out soon enough. Don't move now, Honey. This is a tricky business.”

He angled the blade and held it over her groin. Her skin seemed to shrivel in its presence, trying to pull away, and she held her breath as he made the first pass, clearing a broad swathe in her hair and leaving a stripe of pink in its wake.

He rinsed the clots of hair-speckled soap from the blade and went back again, shaving another portion.

He was painstaking in his approach, denuding her crotch methodically, clearing away the main thatch before tackling the creases. He used his fingers to separate her lips, scooping stray hairs from her crevices, working his way down. She was terrified of being cut, but he was skilled at wielding the razor, and she relaxed when he rinsed it for the last time and began to shut it.

“Oh! It won't shut,” he said. “How about that? And I always thought the old man was kidding...Sorry about this, Honey, but I can't leave this open. Be brave, now.”

He touched the thin edge of the blade to her. It was so sharp that at first she didn't feel anything and thought he was teasing her, but as he closed the blade, tucking it away into its handle, she saw crimson droplets on it.

“Now I've seen it all,” said Rick. “More things in heaven and earth, right? Wild.”

He found a grubby cloth on the floor and soaked it in the water. Little flakes of something fell from it as he wrung it out. He began to swab down her groin, washing the soap from it, and exclaimed happily as she got clean.

“Smooth as one of Jer’s pickup lines,” he said approvingly. “Could eat my lunch off that.”

She looked down. Her private parts were pink and neat, a single scarlet stripe cutting through the clear expanse just above where her lips parted. A little thread of blood ran from it.

Rick bent down and licked it up, pushing his tongue into the raw slit.

“Blood of a virgin….” he said reverently. “Gotta have some magic powers. Will it make me young again, do you think? Nothing happening so far.”

He laughed.

“Don't mind me. I'm just fooling with you. Anyway, now that's dealt with we can get down to business. Preparation is such a drag. First thing I'm gonna do is check your reflexes, okay? Let me just get these out of the way…”

He had more clips, four little ones, and he used them on the puffy skin between her legs, pinning back her labia and spreading her taut like he was dissecting a frog. The pinches were blunt and hot, and if she'd thought she couldn't feel any more exposed, she'd been wrong.

The air hit the thin, damp skin, and the nerve endings down there felt over-sensitised and vulnerable. He dug into his tub of lube again, smearing the white goo onto one black latex finger. He touched it to the nub of her clit, the little bundle of flesh jumping beneath it's sticky coating, and she flinched, the muscles in her legs and belly bunching.

“Good response!” he said. “Exactly what I was hoping for. You're in good working order,  Honey. Fine example of womanhood.”

He pinched her clit, causing another little spasm of pleasure, then teased the hood, flicking it back and forth. She fell back onto the headrest, frightened by her body’s reaction. This was why her mother forbade her to touch herself! She had warned her over and over that the tiny bud down there was the devil’s doorbell,  and if she rang it Lucifer himself would come for her.

She had always obeyed, and she was glad now: If she'd known how it felt, she would never have left it alone….

Rick rubbed at it, running the length of his finger up and down from tip to palm, watching her wriggle and twist. He squeezed it, making her shudder, then slapped it with two fingers. That made her arch her back, a squeal bursting from her throat. He muttered as he worked, apparently to himself.

“Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Yeah. That's good. Oh, that's great. Good girl. How about this?”

He pressed the tip, rubbing his finger in a little circle, then flicked it sharply. A warm puddle was forming there, one that spread in ripples outwards. It felt fuzzy, like the white noise on an out-of-tune radio, and made her open orifices try and close over the stern brace of the twin speculums.

“Well, that's fine, Honey. Reflexes are good. Now I have to take your temperature. Gonna lower the chair a little. Lay you back some. There we go. That's fun, isn't it? Like a carnival ride. Okay, that should do it. I'm afraid my thermometer is broken - cutbacks, like I told you - but I'm pretty good at judging temperature. It's kind of a talent I have. So if you'll just open wide….”

She was horizontal, feet up in the air, her head lowered down, and she saw him lift his apron. There was something underneath, something that looked out of place on such a scrawny body. It looked like another limb, fat and veined with a single, unblinking dark eye.

“Come on - you've had your temperature taken before, haven't you? You know the drill. It's nothing to be scared of. Just pop this under your tongue….”

She looked at it doubtfully, but her fat mouth was already flopping open. He tipped her head to one side, prying open her jaws with his greasy rubber fingers, and the domes head of the thing wavered in front of her eyes. She knew, in theory, what a penis looked liked, but she’d never seen one in real life, let alone at such close quarters. It nudged her lips, the end tasting salty. It was wet with some sort of clear liquid that wept from the eye, and he brushed it against her tongue.

“That’s it. Wider! You got it. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”

He forced it past the unresisting circle of her lips. It throbbed against the roof of her mouth, almost as if it had a life of its own, and left a sour, metallic tang on her tongue. She tried to spit it out, but he clamped a hand under her jaw and slipped it in further.

“Uh-uh, no you don’t,” he scolded gently. “This is gonna take a little time. Just try to relax and control your breathing.”

The fat helmet crept toward the back of her mouth, crowding her throat, and she panicked, feeling her air supply diminish. He slid it out a little, and she felt a surge of relief that was short lived. He pushed it in again, further this time, and she gagged, but it didn’t seem to deter him. He kept up his activity, dragging it out and feeding it back in with long gliding sweeps, keeping his thumb under her chin.

“Try to suck,” he instructed. “Will make your temperature quicker to read.”

She did her best, slurping at the foul thing, drooling on it. She retched as it touched her tonsils, but he snatched it away before her teeth closed on it.

“Well, you might have a degree or two of fever,” he announced. “Certainly hot in there. But I’m gonna double check, if it’s okay with you. Better safe than sorry. I’m gonna take a rectal temperature too.”

She let her head hang, sucking in air. Her tongue felt slick with the flavour of him, and it seemed to burn. Now that he’d mentioned her fever, she did feel hot. And dizzy. She hoped it wasn’t serious.

She felt something cold touch her asshole, and recoiled. He was scooping lube into her back passage, humming as he worked, and she yelped as he tested her opening with a finger. Her ring gaped open, but further down it flexed and closed, and he sank the digit in up to the knuckle, twisting it around.

“That should be enough,” he said. “I know rectal thermometers aren’t pleasant, but I’ll try and be quick.”

She felt his hands on the inside of her thighs, heard the slither of his apron drop to the floor. Something in her rebelled against this fresh indignity, but she could do nothing about it, and anyway - she recognised that it was for her own good.

He slid the big, meaty thermometer inside her, the reluctant core giving way, and bit down on her swollen lip. It didn’t hurt as much as she’d feared, but it was an odd sensation - like pooping backwards. She whimpered as he probed around inside her, and felt a soothing touch to her clit. He was rubbing it again, probably to take her mind off her ordeal, and she was grateful to him. Such a thoughtful man. She forced herself to relax, concentrating not on the assault to her ass but on the ticklish sensation between her thighs. It was as good as before, cunning and elaborate, turning her simple world into a turmoil of forbidden thoughts. He stroked her clit, timing the motion of his finger with the prod of the fat shaft inside her, and despite her chagrin she found herself enjoying it. It was probably very sinful to find pleasure in such a sordid, embarrassing act, but if the devil had any opinion on it he was keeping quiet. And her mother didn’t have to know that she’d liked it….

He was making sounds, little grunts of effort, and she felt sorry for him. She imagined it was hard work being a doctor, especially without the proper equipment, and the strain of taking a temperature this unorthodox way must be very tiring.

She closed her eyes, soaking up the titillating effects of his finger, tilting her pelvis to meet his hand.

“Good girl,” he panted. “You’re being very helpful. I’m nearly done here….Okay, that’s it.”

He pulled out of her, and she felt her muscles close slowly. She felt oddly empty now.

“Well, the second reading was in normal range, you’ll be pleased to hear,” he said. “Looks like I can give you a clean bill of health!”

She felt happy that she was well, but sad that her physical was over. She’d begun to enjoy it.

“I’m not done yet,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Your results show that you’re in great condition, so we can continue to proceed with the impregnation. It shouldn’t take too long, and then you’ll be able to get some rest. I’m just gonna go wash the old thermometer here. Turn it into a nice clean syringe. It’s kind of a multi-tool I have here. Useful for everything.”

The water was running again, little splashes. She could just see his ankles from the corner of her eye. He appeared to be standing on the balls of his feet, swaying back and forth. The water shut off, and he turned.

“Let’s sit you up a little for this. It should be interesting for you to see the procedure. Up we go! That’s it. Comfy? Good….”

He was naked, and the jut of his cock made him look like a withered tree with one healthy branch. It bobbed up and down as he positioned himself, patting her on the thigh reassuringly.

“This may hurt a little, but probably not as much as you’ve been led to believe. I know tradition has it that you scream and bleed the first time, but that’s generally not the case. And even if it is, sometimes we have to endure unpleasant things if we want to reap the rewards. You get me?”

She nodded. She wasn’t really listening to what he was saying, but she wanted him to think she was smart.

“Atta girl! Tell you what, how about I turn up the frequency a little on your heart monitor? That might distract you.”

He leaned around her and twiddled something, and her heart gave a little leap. The buzz coming through the nipple clamps grew stronger, making her breasts shiver almost imperceptibly. Her nipples had been getting numb, but the new vibration’s strength brought them to life again and she rolled her shoulders against the chair.

“There we are,” chuckled Rick indulgently. “Now let’s have a look at what I'm going to be working with.”

He peered into the gaping chasm of her cunt, producing a small pen light and shining it into her. He used a finger to prod at the glistening wall, then groped inside, crooking it at the first knuckle.

“Well, I was gonna use some lube,” he said, extracting the finger. “But by the looks of it I won’t need to. You’re all juicy in there, Honey - nice and wet and creamy. Muscles are elastic, tension spongey. Your hymen looks relatively thin and it’s quite a way back there. This should be a breeze!”

He clicked off his light and tossed it aside, caressing the inside of her thigh. Something was leaking from the end of his dick, and he wiped it on her leg absently.

“Here we go then, Honey. Let’s get all those little guys in you.”

He poked his dick into the ring of the speculum, and it slipped in easily. There was a brief pang of pain, but hardly anything worth worrying about. He grunted, rocking his hips into her, easing in with concentration but not much care. He gripped her knees with his gloved hands, smearing clear jelly over them, and she squeaked as he butted up against some kind of obstruction.

“There it is,” he muttered. “There’s the castle gates. Gotta use a battering ram, honey, I hope you don’t mind.”

He pulled back a little, then entered again, putting a little more force behind it, and his momentum carried him in. Something gave way within her, defenses crumbling, and she whined. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it felt odd.

He was sweating, a sheen of perspiration standing out on his brow, and he wiped it away with the back of his arm.

“Could use a nurse,” he grumbled. “Have to do everything myself these days.”

He rose up on his toes and bore down, piercing her, the blunt end of his dick forcing a path. There was a squelch from within her that sounded embarrassing, but he made no comment and she was glad. He sighed with satisfaction.

“And we’re in! You can relax now, Honey, this is the fun part.”

He started to thrust, withdrawing and sawing in, bouncing his belly off her. Her back chafed and rubbed against the leather upholstery, sweat making her slide, and he puffed happily as he worked.

“A lot of people don’t realise the importance of the female orgasm when it comes to procreation,” he said breathlessly, his gaze fixed on the point where his dick joined her. “There’s an idea called the ‘upsuck’ theory. Postulates that the contractions of the uterus help suck up pools of semen near the cervix. It’s possible that it’s a myth, but it can’t hurt, can it?”

He laid his right hand on her belly, thumb seeking out her clit. It was all laid out for him, and he started to rub, using economic little circles. The effect was immediate, the combination of internal and external stimuli bringing back the heat she’d felt before. It was as though he was building a fire in her private parts, using friction like the cavemen had, and all she needed was a spark to light her up. It was there, buried somewhere, and she concentrated on the glowing ember that lurked in the area between her ass and her stomach. The chair creaked and groaned around her, the stirrups clattering.

This was what her mother had warned her about. This was what she'd tried to protect her against, and at that moment she hated her mother. If it felt this good, she would go to hell and let the Devil fuck her.

Rick had his eyes half shut behind his goggles. Sweat had made his mask come unstuck, and it dripped off his face, showing his exposed teeth. His permanent grimace was a fitting expression, and she read passion in his disfigurement.

“Oh, Honey. We're gonna have such a beautiful baby,” he said, the bright flash of his teeth hypnotic.

The feeling his fingers and the hard meat of his cock were pulling from her grew until she felt like it would consume her. She twitched and writhed and wept, held in place by the merciless straps, and when the climax hit her she shuddered where she sat, spreading her fingers and toes, letting her mouth drop wide.

He groaned, doubling over her, gloved hands skidding from her body and clutching the metal struts of the stirrups. She felt wetter than ever inside, flooded by his emissions, and it burned like lava.

She drifted again, feeling her heartbeat slow. Rick was busy, switching off the heart monitor, extracting the intrusive speculums, and she felt herself closing, her body becoming her own again.

“Now we wait,” he was saying. “Won't know for a while. You get some rest,  Honey. Let it take hold. I gotta say, The Groom will be pissed if I succeed where he failed. All his fucking half-assed surgery, and all he had to do was find a real woman….”

He was unstrapping her, transferring her to a wheelchair. Her limbs ached from being spread and held for so long, no strength in them. He wheeled her down a corridor, past the bare frames of beds, past writhing bundles of flesh that looked like they had once been human.

“Here you go. You get a private room, as you're going to be the mother of my child. Get some sleep.”

She was lying on a bed that felt gritty beneath her skin and smelled like old sweat. Someone was screaming not far away.

Rick had donned his apron again, she noticed; replaced his mask.

“Sorry I can't stay with you, but it's real busy here today. I heard there's a journalist on the loose somewhere, and he's going to need some medical attention. I'll be back before you know it.”

 

He'd never come back. They'd told her he'd died, crushed by an elevator, and she'd have cried if she'd had the strength.

She was in hospital for a while, and the tests they ran on her were quite different from the ones Dr Trager had done, and were very dull in comparison.

She was sent home, partially because they could find nothing wrong with her, and partially because she was found in one of the store cupboards on the ward, frantically masturbating with a latex glove over the handle of a mop.

Her belly grew: Rick’s seed had taken root inside her. 

Her mother continually banged on the door to her room, trying to get her to come out.

She didn't want to go anywhere: She'd purchased two huge dildos, ones that were so big they hurt, and she wanted to keep them inside her all the time.

Some nights she found herself standing over her mother's bed, thinking how much she'd missed out on because of the sleeping woman, and she wanted to smother her with a pillow.

So she moved out of her mother's house - it seemed only fitting she have some independence now she was going to be a mother herself.

She didn't bother to attend her doctor’s appointments. None of them would fuck her, so what was the point? She was quite capable of taking care of herself.

She stayed in her apartment, ordering a crib and little baby gowns for the big day, and lay in bed with her dildos in her, happy in her solitude.

 

Her belly was cramping. The time had come. She wished Rick was here to help her. She writhed on her sheets, wallowing in her pain. It was cleansing and pure.

Her baby was born at 3 o'clock in the morning,  his arrival signalled by a rush of blood. His little limbs were perfect, his face round and blue like his eyes. She kept him on his cord, because she wanted him to stay connected to her.

He was a quiet baby. He never cried. Ever. And so still! He was a perfect baby. Slept all the time.

Rick would have been proud.


End file.
